Chapter 32
“Ugh!”
Suddenly, a groan escaped the man’s lips, and his hand, gripped tight around his blade, froze in midair.
Before Lobelin could even process what was happening, the man’s body collapsed with a heavy thud.
“Whew. That was close.”
Ian straightened up, his movements fluid.
Unlike the desperate situation moments ago, a relaxed smile played on his lips. His apparent disadvantage had been nothing more than a calculated ploy to lure the overconfident man into an opening.
‘…I didn’t think he’d move exactly as predicted.’
Just as Ian expected, the man, certain of his victory, had begun swinging his sword indiscriminately. Ian, who had been sharply observing his every move, didn’t miss the momentary lapse and drove his wooden stick straight into the man’s abdomen.
Then, with a quick shift of his grip, he struck the man’s solar plexus, knocking him unconscious on the spot.
“Urgh, ugh…”
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
The only sound echoing through the narrow alley was the groaning of the fallen thugs.
“You dared to say you’d do what to whom?”
In contrast to his enemies lying in a heap, Ian looked composed, his only sign of exertion a slightly heavy breath.
His eyes shone with a cold, sharp intensity she had never seen before.
“Anyone who says such things in my presence is subject to immediate execution.”
Ian took a moment to catch his breath and looked around at the fallen men. Since they were clearly connected to the toxic herbs, he needed to verify their identities.
It was then.
“Your Highness!”
Lobelin’s urgent scream rang through the alley.
“Y-you bastard! Die!”
One of the thugs, who had seemed unconscious, suddenly bolted upright and lunged savagely at Ian. Even though his comrades were all sprawled on the ground, he seemed indifferent to everything but his final, desperate act of defiance.
“Your Highness! Behind you!”
At Lobelin’s frantic cry, Ian whipped around.
However, the thug’s blade was already inches away.
“Khaha! Too late, you bastard! Die!”
“Damn it!”
Startled, Ian hurriedly raised his right arm to protect his face. He was prepared to sacrifice an arm if it meant taking the man down.
“I’ll send you to hell!”
As the blade drew closer, Ian gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.
Thwack!
At that moment, a dull thud echoed through the air.
The pain of slicing flesh that Ian had braced for never came.
“Ugh, uuuuh…”
The thug’s body crumpled to the ground once more. His sword fell from his hand, hitting the pavement with a sharp metallic clang.
Ian opened his eyes in confusion, his expression quickly turning to one of shock.
“Lo—Lobelin!”
Behind the fallen thug stood Lobelin, holding a shattered wooden crate. She looked just as stunned by her own actions as he was.
Ian quickly kicked the thug’s sword away and rushed to her side.
“W-what in the world…!”
“Your Highness, are you alright? That was—that was almost a disaster!”
Terrified that Ian might actually get hurt, Lobelin hadn’t had time for second thoughts. She had instinctively grabbed a nearby crate and smashed it against the back of the man’s head. It was a stroke of luck that it had been an empty crate light enough for her to lift.
“What were you thinking? That was dangerous!”
Though he was scolding her, Ian took her hands and examined them meticulously. Her once soft, white hands were now marred with scratches from the rough wood.
“Look at this. You’ve hurt your hands.”
“I-It’s fine. Compared to a sword wound, this is nothing—”
“Does it hurt?”
Seeing Ian look more pained over a few scratches than she was, Lobelin felt a bit embarrassed. She quickly turned her head toward Bolton.
“More importantly, the Duke…”
But Lobelin couldn’t finish her sentence.
Bolton, who had been hiccuping and pushing Ian away just moments ago, was now lying prone on the ground, still as death.
Seeing his motionless form, Lobelin knew instinctively.
‘He’s dead.’
Ian shared the same thought.
A heavy silence settled between the two of them.
“He must have inhaled a significant amount. There’s no need to look at that anymore.”
Ian said, turning Lobelin away from the sight.
However, the gruesome image of Bolton’s face remained burned into Lobelin’s mind. It hadn’t even been three weeks since that banquet. If a person could be destroyed like that in such a short time…
Then that woman from that day must have also, not long after…
‘No, don’t think about useless things.’
Lobelin shook her head to clear the horrific thoughts. Seeing this, Ian’s expression grew even more serious.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt somewhere?”
“N-no. More importantly, shouldn’t we call someone?”
“Right. For now, you go home, and I’ll contact the City Guard—”
Once again, Ian was interrupted.
The shrill sound of a whistle and shouting voices drifted in from the alley entrance.
“Over here! I saw people fighting here earlier!”
The voice of a young woman reporting the incident was followed by the heavy footfalls of armored soldiers. Before Ian could send Lobelin away, the City Guard burst into the alley.
The torches they carried instantly illuminated the dark passage.
“…Ah.”
Only then did Lobelin notice Ian’s torn sleeve and the gash beneath it. Blood was still seeping through, staining his sleeve a dark crimson.
She hadn’t expected him to be completely unscathed after fighting off multiple attackers. But seeing it in person, the wound looked worse than she had imagined.
“Your Highness, you’re bleeding…”
“Shh, it’s alright.”
Ian comforted Lobelin, pressing a finger to his lips.
Meanwhile, the soldiers were scanning the scene with wide eyes, taking in the thugs scattered across the ground. Their gaze soon shifted to the two people standing there: Ian and Lobelin.
“What happened here?”
One of the City Guard members asked. He was looking directly at Ian, but he didn’t seem to recognize him.
It made sense; likely only Count Wighill, the head of the City Guard, would know Ian’s face by heart. For Ian, this was a stroke of luck.
“We were passing through the alley with Duke Bolton when we were harassed,” Ian replied, pretending to be Bolton’s servant.
He intended to get Lobelin to safety first, then buy time until he could investigate the matter with Brian.
“But engaging in a brawl in a place like this is a violation of Imperial Law—”
“The opposition was armed and threatening us; I had no choice. It was a matter of legitimate self-defense to protect the Duke.”
“Hmm…”
The soldier was momentarily cowed by the man’s confident demeanor. Even though he claimed to be a servant of a noble house, he possessed an overwhelming presence. Still, the soldier never dreamed that the man was the Crown Prince.
“Please let the lady return home first. I will cooperate with the investigation afterward.”
“Very well. My lady, please come this way.”
Technically, Lobelin was a key witness to the incident. However, the soldier acted as if he had received a direct order from Ian.
“Oh, but…”
Lobelin looked up at Ian, her eyes filled with worry.
Ian met her gaze and nodded. He leaned down and whispered softly in her ear.
“It’s okay. Just in case, part ways with him as soon as you reach a safe place. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
He gave the advice out of concern that she might be caught up in a scandal. Lobelin, understanding his intention, nodded back.
Following the City Guard, Lobelin made her way out of the alley.
“I will ensure the lady is escorted safely. However, sir, you must cooperate with our inquiry.”
“I will. …Ugh.”
Once Lobelin was gone, Ian finally clutched his arm and groaned in pain. The delayed agony from the sword wound was finally catching up to him.
Seeing this, the soldier clicked his tongue and looked around.
“Hey, someone bring some bandages—Ah, Commander!”
The soldier, who had been speaking authoritatively, immediately snapped to attention and saluted.
A sense of foreboding washed over Ian. If it was their Commander…
“Your Highness? What are you doing in a place like this?”
Count Wighill was walking into the alley.
‘Damn it, of all people.’
He hadn’t expected the man to show up now. Ian gritted his teeth at the unexpected turn of events.
As Wighill addressed Ian, the narrow alley suddenly buzzed with hushed whispers.
“His Highness?”
“What? That was His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince?”
The soldier who had been talking to Ian just moments ago stood there with his mouth agape, looking shell-shocked.
Meanwhile, Wighill approached Ian.
“How could Your Highness be in such a… Oh, heavens.”
Scanning the alley, Wighill let out a small gasp as he saw Ian, the fallen thugs, and Duke Bolton. Knowing Ian’s exceptional swordsmanship, Wighill could easily piece together what had happened without being told.
Wighill clicked his tongue at the sight of Ian’s wound and issued orders to his subordinates.
“Bring bandages immediately, and escort His Highness at once!”
